


Spiralling

by Rozzlynn



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Bad Ending, Canon Asexual Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Entity Swap, Friendships and Relationships, M/M, Spiral!Jon, somewhat open ending, turning into a monster is inherently a bad ending in tma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:20:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21964225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rozzlynn/pseuds/Rozzlynn
Summary: "Good morning, Martin. Jon. How are you, ah, enjoying the Archives, so far?" Michael asked, upon noticing that he'd drawn the attention of Gertrude's assistants. He fumbled the door closed, carrying a stack of case files in one hand, and a bouquet of daffodils in the other.
Relationships: Gertrude Robinson & Jonathan Sims, Martin Blackwood & Michael Shelley, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, Michael Shelley & Jonathan Sims, Sasha James & Jonathan Sims, Tim Stoker & Jonathan Sims
Comments: 9
Kudos: 117
Collections: Rusty Quill Secret Santa 2019





	1. First Impressions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blooddrool](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blooddrool/gifts).



> RQ Secret Santa 2019 treat for blooddrool! Hope you enjoy it, two cakes etc.

Michael Shelley stepped into the Archives as if he owned the place, and fumbled the door closed behind him, carrying a stack of case files in one hand and a bouquet of daffodils in the other.

"Good morning, Martin. Jon. How are you, ah, enjoying the Archives, so far?" Michael asked, upon noticing that he'd drawn the attention of Gertrude's new assistants. 

"Morning, Michael. It's been interesting, I guess," Martin replied, offering him a smile. "There's lots to do, but that's why we're here, isn't it?"

"That's the spirit." Michael returned his smile. "Back in a second, I'll just drop these off with Gertrude."

Once Michael had disappeared into the Head Archivist's office, Jon slid his chair slightly closer to Martin's desk.

"Who was that?" Jon asked in hushed tones, sounding mildly indignant about the arrival of an interruption.

"Michael Shelley, from Research." Martin sighed at the sight of Jon's blank expression. "Didn't you used to work in Research, too?"

"Not on the same team," Jon muttered. "Is he relatively new?"

"No, he's been here for almost twenty years." 

"Oh. I suppose I might have seen him around..." Jon blinked, his mind visibly shifting tracks. "How old is he?"

"About forty, I think?"

"Really? He barely looks thirty." Jon shook his head as if to clear it, then slid his chair back over to his laptop, muttering under his breath. "People always seem to think I'm forty at best..."

"Must be the greying hair."

"So I'm told." Jon rested his elbows on his desk, hunching over his laptop.

"Hm..." Martin spun his chair round to face him. "You're twenty seven, right? Give or take a year or two? Studied here sometimes for your PhD, joined straight after, and worked in Research for a couple of years? I saw you around the library."

"...Yes. I... I didn't notice you. Sorry." Jon met his gaze with a slightly deer-in-headlights expression.

"It's fine, no reason you should've." Martin shrugged and turned back to his own work. 

Jon coughed and asked an awkward question, as if well aware that he'd gone all morning without making small talk until now. "How long have you worked here, yourself?"

"Almost ten years." Martin offered him a smile, then glanced back down at his screen, since Jon seemed uncomfortable holding his gaze. "I joined straight out of uni, too. Masters in parapsychology."

"Oh. You don't look thirty two," Jon told him.

"Thanks, but that's not actually much of a compliment." Martin took care to keep his tone light. "In academia, looking young for your age tends to mean you don't exactly get taken seriously."

"Ah. I can imagine... Hm. I wonder if our Mr Shelley tends to run into the same problem."

"Maybe." Martin looked up as the door to Gertrude's office opened, and Michael stepped out, still carrying the case files.

"Gertrude, ah, said to hand these to you," Michael explained, approaching the assistants' desks. "These are the last few closed cases, you see. She asked me to ask you to file them away, once you're done with the current transcripts."

"More nonsense, I suppose." Jon scowled at the stack of papers as it landed on his desk.

"Oh, you know. It's hard to tell sometimes," Michael ventured, trailing off into a nervous laugh. 

"Did she like the flowers?" Martin asked, sensing that a change of topic was in order.

"Yes, I think so. I try to make a habit of bringing her a little something on her birthday. The old dear doesn't get many visitors these days."

"Oh, that's nice of you," Martin told him.

"You boys will look after her, won't you?" Michael asked, leaning against the edge of Jon's desk. "For all her expertise, she is nevertheless getting on in years. I've been trying to tell her that she should take on some assistants again. She could use someone to help with the heavy lifting, and to keep an eye out in case she has a fall. Mr Bouchard feels the same way, apparently, hence... you two."

"We've got rather more to do than just heavy lifting," Jon replied.

"But we'll definitely look after her. I know how it is to worry," Martin assured him.

"I'm glad to hear it. The stairs to the basement are rather steep, and, well... you know how it is." Michael hummed and tapped his fingers against the desk. "How's your mother doing, these days?"

"Same as ever. I'll tell her you asked after her," Martin offered.

Michael nodded, and leaned over to glance at Jon's screen. "So, what are these transcripts that Gertrude is keeping you so busy with?"

"We're typing up digital copies of the handwritten statements," Jon explained. "All of them. In chronological order. I did mention to Gertrude that the newer statements are in higher demand for cross-referencing against active investigations, but she made the very valid point that many researchers are interested in the years surrounding the Institute's founding. Besides which, many of our oldest documents are in a fragile state. So, starting with those received in 1818, we're to type up transcripts, check each others' interpretations of the more unreadable passages, and record digital audio versions, all of which will be added to the new database. A task which will take us the next few decades, at the very least."

"Gertrude said she'd look into text to speech software to speed up the process," Martin added. "And we'll scan new statements as they come in, and add them to the database, even if we won't be doing anything more with them just yet, except on request. I know there's a lot to do, but I don't think it'll take us long to start making a difference."

"I see. She really is keeping you busy, isn't she?" Michael laughed, as if at a joke, then sighed as he stepped away from the desk. "I'll, ah, tell anyone who asks that you've hit the ground running."

"Thanks. See you around." Martin returned Michael's little wave goodbye as he headed for the door.

Jon frowned at his laptop for a few moments, then headed over to Gertrude's office and pushed open the door that had been left ajar. 

Even from his desk, Martin could see Gertrude glance up from her paperwork in acknowledgement. The daffodils had already been transferred to a small vase on a nearby shelf.

"Have you given any more thought to the possibility of taking on an extra assistant?" Jon checked. "We really are facing a Herculean challenge in trying to get this place modernised, and another pair of hands could only help. I dare say Michael would be open to the idea of transferring if you asked. He seems to have a soft spot for you."

"I know." Gertrude lowered her reading glasses to look Jon in the eyes. "That is precisely why I don't want him in the Archives."

"Ah. That'd make things awkward, would it?" Jon shifted gears, putting on a clumsy attempt at a conspiratorial tone. "I don't blame you. Who can deal with that much soppiness?"

"Indeed." Gertrude turned her attention back to her paperwork, but Jon didn't take the hint.

"If not Michael, would you consider requesting Tim or Sasha? Like I said, they're excellent researchers, and I'm sure they'd be a great help -"

"No, there's no need." Gertrude offered him a thin smile. "I'm sure you and Martin can handle your duties without additional assistance."

"Ah. I..." Jon's gaze swept over the masses of storage boxes and filing cabinets in their immediate vicinity. "If it's not an option for this quarter, would the budget look any more promising next quarter...?"

"That will be all, Jonathan." An undeniably stern edge crept into Gertrude's tone.

Jon opened his mouth, closed it, then nodded and headed back to his desk at a brisk pace.

Martin waited until Jon was seated, then slid his own chair over to talk to him quietly.

"He's not soppy, you know."

"What?" Jon blinked and looked up.

"Michael. He's sweet." Martin heard the defensiveness creeping into his own tone, and tried to keep a pleasant smile on his face.

Jon stared at him. "Do you two get along?"

"Yeah? I mean, he says hi, when he sees me around, and not everyone does, so, yeah. I'd rather not hear you badmouth him." Martin tried to will away the indignant heat creeping across his face. 

"I wasn't badmouthing him, just..." Jon gestured randomly with his hand.

"Just what?" Martin asked.

Jon looked slightly lost. "I don't know. What was your point?"

"I - I'd just like it if we all made an effort to be nice to each other?" Martin explained.

"Ah. Alright." Jon glanced around, then met his gaze again, blinking owlishly in the awkward silence. "Sorry?"

"S'alright. I didn't mean to, uh..." 

"I'm sure he'd be fine to work with," Jon added in a subdued tone. "I wouldn't have suggested him otherwise."

"Right. I'd better, uh..." Martin shifted over to his own desk and stared at his laptop keyboard, waiting for the embarrassment to fade. 

A few seconds later, Jon broke the silence. 

"Ah, I can't help but notice, on your screen, second line down, 'hainting' looks like a typo..."

Martin took a second to breathe before replying. "Thank you, Jon."

"Just trying to help."

"I know."

Martin corrected the typo, then spent a minute staring at the word 'haunting'.

"You know what? I'm going to make some tea," Martin decided, flipping his laptop closed. "Do you want a drink?"

"You needn't go to any trouble..." Jon sounded reluctant, but he looked unsure.

"It's no trouble. I'd be happy to grab something for you while I'm upstairs," Martin insisted. "Tea? Coffee? Squash? Which do you prefer?"

"Tea, if you're sure."

"How do you take yours?"

"A dash of milk, no sugar." Jon sounded almost embarrassed about listing his preferences.

"Right, back soon." Martin headed over to the Head Archivist's office and knocked on the doorframe. (Behind him, he heard a sharp inhale of breath. Had Jon reached a gory part in the statement he was working on?) 

"Yes, Martin?" Gertrude's eyes flickered behind him for a moment before she offered him a thin smile. "The door is open. No need to knock."

"Ah, right. I was just wondering if you'd like a cup of tea?" 

"No thank you."

"Let me know if I can get you anything later."

Gertrude nodded in dismissal, and Martin set off for the break room. The stairs were pretty steep (Michael hadn't been kidding about that), but it was good to make it back to the ground floor and step into the sunlight streaming through the windows.

As he set about boiling the kettle and grabbing a couple of mugs, Martin found himself grinning. He set each mug on a small plate, made the tea, then added a biscuit beside each drink, coffee shop style. If Jon wasn't expecting much, then a gesture like this might be well received.

When Martin returned to the Archives, Jon looked up and frowned.

"I didn't say I was hungry." Jon made no move to take the plate that Martin set down on his desk.

"Don't you like biscuits?" 

"It's not that I... I don't think we should run the risk of getting crumbs everywhere." Jon slid the papers on his desk a little further away from the plate.

"They're bitesize." Martin held his own biscuit up to demonstrate, then popped it in his mouth and took a sip of tea.

Jon sighed and followed suit. He closed his eyes for a few moments, clearly savouring the taste.

Martin washed down the snack with a few more sips of his drink, then cleared his throat. "Double chocolate chip. They're nice, right?"

Jon nodded, and drained most of his tea before speaking. "...I may have been hungrier than I realised."

"If you're still hungry, we could grab lunch soon," Martin offered. He checked his phone; 11:53 already. "She said anytime between twelve and two would be fine."

"Ah, do you mean at the canteen, or...?" 

"Yeah, I usually eat there. Or we could head out to a coffee shop or something. It's a nice day, and I guess now that we're working in the basement, we won't catch much sunlight unless we step outside sometimes."

"Oh. Alright. We could head out in..." Jon glanced at his laptop. "...six minutes."

Martin found himself smiling again. "Right. Six more minutes of spooky stories, then we'll go get some fresh air."

"Please don't call them 'spooky stories'. We are trying to approach this from a professional angle, aren't we?" Jon asked, frowning again.

"What would you call them, then?"

"Unverifiable historical accounts of..." Jon eyed the files on his desk with suspicion, then sighed and locked his laptop. "Hallucinations, rumours, hoaxes, and fuck knows what else. Perhaps the distinction would be easier to draw if any of the authors were still alive and available for follow up interviews."

"We could hold follow up seances instead?" Martin suggested, keeping it deadpan. "They've probably got the equipment in Artefact Storage."

"Let's not..." Jon hesitated, looking him over. "Was that a joke?"

"Sort of. Now that the idea's in my head, though, I can't help feeling it might be interesting."

"If anything in Artefact Storage actually works, I think it could be put to better uses than..."

"Verifying historical accounts of hallucinations, rumours and hoaxes?" Martin finished for him.

"Mm."

"You must've had some real stuff pass through Research, right?"

"There have been several noteworthy cases..." Jon paused to check his phone. "Ah, it's more or less twelve."

"Tell me over lunch, then." 

Martin grabbed his coat and headed for the door. On the way out, he glanced into Gertrude's office, and his gaze landed on the daffodils that Michael had brought. Since it was her birthday, they could pick up a gift while they were out, a cake or a box of chocolates maybe. 

Transferring to the Archives hadn't exactly been his choice, but he wouldn't have argued with the Head of the Institute even if a pay rise hadn't been involved. Fortunately, the work had been manageable so far, and his colleagues seemed to like him well enough. With any luck, his CV would never come up, Michael would keep in touch, Jon would carry on warming to him, and the Archives would prove to be a thoroughly pleasant place to work.


	2. Foot in the Door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Oh, hello there." Martin knelt to pet the dog that was snuffling round the pavement outside the Institute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, sorry for the delay! I got a bit blocked on this for a while, but here's the second chapter. I've made inroads into the next two as well, so they shouldn't take anywhere near as long. I hope this is still a fun read! A lot of timeline stuff is mish-mashed all over the place compared to canon, by the way; sometimes that's what AUs are for.

"Oh, hello there." Martin knelt to pet the dog that was snuffling round the pavement outside the Institute. 

The little cocker spaniel licked his hand, then let him scratch behind its ears.

"I don't see a collar, but you don't look neglected. Is your owner nearby?" Martin wondered.

His new friend nuzzled his palm, then carried on licking his fingers.

"I need to get to work, but... Hmm. Tell you what, if you're still here later, I'll take that to mean there's no-one looking after you, and see about getting you to a shelter. They can check for a microchip. If you're really on your own, maybe I could offer you a home." 

Martin rose to his feet, smiling as the dog whined and pawed at his leg.

"Will you be okay for the morning, if I leave now? Oh, I know..." 

Martin dug around in his bag and removed a few slices of chicken from his sandwiches. 

His maybe-future-pet ate from his hand, tail wagging furiously.

"Good dog. That's it for now, sorry. Maybe I'll see you later?"

Martin wiped his hands on his jacket and headed up the steps to the Institute. The dog followed at his heels.

"I told you, I need to get to work. Sorry, but you can't come with me."

Martin paused to pet it one more time at the top of the steps, then tried to keep one foot in its way to block it from following him through the door. Despite his best efforts, it slipped past his legs.

"Hey, no... Get back here!"

By the time Martin was halfway across the reception, the dog had reached the door that led to the stairs down to the Archives just as it was opening from the other side. When Gertrude stepped through, the dog tried to squeeze past her, but she caught it and hefted it into her arms, moving swiftly for a woman her age. 

Martin's new boss regarded him with a cool stare as he approached.

"Oh, uh, good morning, Gertrude. I'm so sorry, l was just making a new friend outside, a-and it snuck in after me, and I was trying to - "

"Good morning, Martin. No need to fret." Gertrude laid a calming hand against the dog's side, and it leaned into her chest, whining softly. "No harm done."

"Ah, right, good. Thanks." Martin offered her a relieved smile. "I - I'm not sure if it's a stray, so I was thinking I'd take it to a shelter if it's still hanging around the building at lunchtime."

"Well, then. I happen to have business to conduct outside of the office. I'll drop off your new friend at a shelter on the way," Gertrude offered, in a no-nonsense tone that made it hard to tell whether he was truly inconveniencing her.

"Are you sure? I didn't mean to give you one more thing to do - " 

"Honestly, it's no problem. I have a friend who works at a shelter, and stopping by will only take a few minutes out of my day." 

"Oh, really? Okay, thanks. If you're heading out soon, do you need a hand with anything?" 

Gertrude thought for a second, then nodded and led him over to the reception desk. "Rosie has informed me that our stationery order has arrived. Would you mind bringing it downstairs? I'm sure Jon will help you unpack everything."

Noticing their approach, Rosie waved them towards a large cardboard box at the edge of the desk.

"Sure, of course. We'll get that sorted, and, uh, I hope everything goes well, while you're out." Martin almost reached over to pet the dog one last time, but caught himself in time to avoid making any more of a fuss over their little intruder. 

"Thank you, Martin." Gertrude gave him a curt nod before leaving.

"Right, crisis averted," Martin muttered to himself. "This could still be a good day. This _will_ be a good day."

He took a few moments to get a secure hold on the box, bulky as it was, then headed for the Archives. When Jon caught sight of him, he jumped up to clear some space on his desk. 

"Thanks." Martin set the box down. "Stationery order. Do you have a pair of scissors?"

"Yes, but I wouldn't mind a spare." Jon looked down at the taped-up parcel, then back up at Martin. "Oh, you meant to open it."

Martin stifled a laugh. "Yeah, but I guess if Gertrude's ordered us any scissors, I'll give you first dibs."

"Why thank you," Jon muttered, grabbing them from his desk drawer. "Let's see..."

The parcel didn't contain any scissors, as it turned out, but it did restock them with pens, staples, paperclips, rubber bands, masking tape, folders, dividers, plastic sleeves, and lots of acid free paper. 

"This must've been heavy. I hope you took care on the stairs," Jon told him, lifting out the second pack of paper.

Martin paused to study him, remembering how dismissive he'd been of Michael's fussing about heavy lifting and steep stairs, on their first day. Should he be flattered or insulted that Jon was more concerned for him than for Gertrude?

"It's fine, it wasn't too heavy, just a bit bulky." 

"Oh." Jon stacked a third pack of paper on top of the other two, then tried to lift all three at once, only to give up immediately. He glanced at Martin, blushing slightly, and quickly looked down to grab the folders instead. "I'll start putting things away."

While Jon bustled off to the storage cupboard, Martin opened the pack of paperclips. They were in one of those clear plastic boxes that tended to split open really easily. At least they were the sort with colourful coatings, unlikely to leave rust on the paperwork. He joined a couple of paperclips together, hummed in satisfaction, and set about adding the rest to the chain. 

"Don't waste time," Jon told him, on his way back to the desk. "I know Gertrude's out, but we still - "

"I'm not wasting time!" Martin insisted. "Diana always told us to store paperclips like this in the library, so that they don't go everywhere if you drop them."

"Oh." Jon watched as Martin added another clip to the chain. "I - I suppose I can see how that would be useful."

"Want to join in?"

Jon stared for a little longer, then blinked and shook his head. "No, you seem to have that in hand. I'll just..."

Jon gathered up a few more supplies and carried them off. 

Martin shrugged, and dragged his chair over to Jon's desk so that he could sit down while absolutely not wasting time. 

There were enough colours to make rainbow stripes...

He heard Jon return, and looked up to find him staring again.

"Come on." Martin tipped out half the pack. "We'll get this done twice as fast if you help me out."

"Oh, alright." Jon sat down and started fiddling with the paperclips in his pile. "If you could use the help. Do you think we'll be using these to colour code things?"

"There have to be better ways of doing that. Coloured stickers or folders or whatever..."

Martin gave up on the rainbow stripes when he ran out of purple paperclips. Jon had stolen most of them, though he didn't seem to be trying for any kind of pattern. Once his chain was long enough, he draped it in loops, and redid the connections until he'd turned it into an Olympic logo shape.

They both jumped slightly when the door opened. Sasha stepped in with an armful of case files, and her smile only grew wider when she saw what they were up to. 

"Hi, Jon. And Martin, right?"

"Yeah, hi." Martin stacked the rest of the unpacked supplies into taller piles to free up some space at the edge of the desk. 

"I bring you yesterday's closed cases," she announced, setting them down. "How's the archiving going, Jon?"

"Ah, well enough. You know, this is the first time anyone other than Michael has brought these down from Research. I was starting to think it was part of his job," Jon replied, idly flicking through the topmost file.

"No, he just jumps at the chance to check on Gertrude, and nobody fights him for it," Sasha explained. "Usually. I thought I'd pay you a visit today. We haven't seen you around for a while."

"It's only been a couple of weeks." Jon set aside the file, frowning slightly.

"Exactly. It's been weeks! We haven't even seen you in the canteen. Why don't you grab lunch with us today? Tim misses you."

"Oh..." Jon glanced at Martin, looking guilty. "I, ah, I've already brought in sandwiches. Martin and I have been making a habit of eating in the park, to get some sunlight, now that we're working in a windowless basement all day. We tried out a few coffee shops, at first, but that gets expensive, so..."

"You've been getting fresh air and sunlight every day?" Sasha sounded slightly taken aback.

"Well, it's still that time of year when it's quite dark in the morning and evening, and the window seats in the canteen fill up fast, so we wouldn't be getting much vitamin D unless we went out," Jon explained. "Though I suppose it's been getting lighter, now that the clocks have changed."

Sasha leaned in close to Martin and stage-whispered in his ear. "What kind of spell have you cast on Jon? Teach me your dark magic..."

"I - I haven't..." Martin leaned away from her, stammering until he managed to get ahold of himself. Teasing sometimes started off good-natured, but it didn't always stay that way. He gritted his teeth, and turned to Jon. "If your friends miss you, then you should go have lunch with them."

"Oh, do you not want to come along?" Jon asked, looking disappointed. "Don't let Sasha put you off, she's usually... uh... have you met Tim?"

"Yeah, once or twice. Only briefly."

"Let me introduce you properly," Jon offered. 

"If you like." Martin glanced at Sasha, who'd already retreated out of his personal space.

"Great, it sounds like we've got a plan." Sasha offered them both a smile. "We'll hold an interdepartmental lunch today, and you two can do your thing again tomorrow."

"Right. I - we'll see you later." Jon nodded in confirmation. 

Once Sasha had headed back upstairs, Jon gazed at his cluttered desk and breathed a heavy sigh. 

"What's wrong?" Martin asked.

"Mm? Oh, I..." Jon glanced at him, then started fidgeting with a loose paperclip. "Maybe this is an entirely unnecessary warning, but... Tim tends to show off a bit, around new people. He can be a bit much. But if he makes you uncomfortable, you can tell him to tone it down, and he'll... he usually listens."

"Right..." Martin gathered the last few paperclips to finish off the chain. "Gotta admit, you're not really selling the whole 'team lunch' idea."

"Sorry. I'm sure it'll be fine. They're good people, it's just... It took me a while to warm up to them," Jon admitted. "Some people seem to get there a lot faster. Maybe that says more about me than them, but..."

"Hey, I'll play nice. I'm sure you're right, it'll be fine."

"Right." Jon twisted his paperclip back and forth, bending it out of shape.

"It can take me a while to get comfortable around new people too, so I... I know how that is," Martin added.

Jon's hands stilled, and he cast another quick glance in Martin's direction. His voice was a lot quieter when he spoke again. "We're getting there, aren't we? As... as new colleagues."

"Yeah, we're good." 

Martin knew exactly why he'd gotten comfortable around Jon, but he kept the explanation to himself.

_You're pretty transparent, so I feel like I've got a good read of you already. You're a bad liar, and you think you have to get everything right._

Jon seemed fairly reassured, so Martin returned his smile, then started packing the paperclip chains away in their box.

"I suppose we'd better finish tidying up." Jon looped a few rolls of tape over his arm.

"Yeah, let's give you back your desk." Martin picked up some pens and dividers, then paused as he remembered his trip into work. "Come to think of it, I forgot to make sandwiches today, so this invitation's, uh, good timing."

That was slightly less embarrassing than admitting _'I fed most of the filling to a stray dog.'_

"Good timing indeed." Jon led the way to the storage closet. "Did you have breakfast?"

"Yes, I remembered to have breakfast," Martin replied. Maybe it came out a little snappish, but he wasn't _that_ forgetful.

"I only ask because my sandwiches are going spare, apparently, so if you're at all hungry, we could split them for brunch."

"Oh, brunch sounds good." Martin took a moment to focus on stacking everything away on the shelves. "Since Gertrude's out, nobody will notice if we take a quick break, right?"

"We can make up the time later." 

"So, what did you bring?"

"Cheese and pickle."

"Ew, pickle."

"You don't have to have any."

"No, I'll have some."

"Then why complain?"

"As if _you_ never complain for the sake of it."

"Fair enough."

* * *

By the time lunch break rolled around, Martin had typed up enough transcripts that his fingers were starting to cramp. Neither he nor Jon noticed the time until Sasha popped back down to the Archives to remind them.

Tim had saved them a table in the canteen, and he waved them over once they'd each picked up a plate of nuggets and chips. 

"Window seats!" Tim announced cheerfully.

"Er, yes. Thank you." Jon took a seat next to him, and Martin claimed the next one along, while Sasha sat opposite them.

"Here, I nipped out to get you this." Tim held up a bottle of vitamin D tablets and shook it theatrically before setting it down by Jon's plate. "Sasha said you've been complaining that you're not getting enough D."

"Did you have to phrase it that way?" Jon asked, pocketing the vitamins.

"Yep." Tim slung an arm around Jon's shoulders. "You have to drop by regularly, or else when I finally see you again, I'll have no choice but to make up for lost time by embarrassing you."

Jon put up with the hug for a few seconds before shaking him off. "Or you could tell me what's new in Research."

"All in good time." Tim leaned around him to grin at Martin. "Thanks for looking after our Jon."

"You're welcome?" 

"Oh, I said I'd introduce you properly, didn't I?" Jon recalled, suddenly sitting up straight. "Martin, this is Tim Stoker. He used to work in publishing, and joined the Institute about a year ago. I dare say he's one of our finest researchers. As is Sasha. She transferred from Artefact Storage to Research a few years before I joined the department."

"No regrets there," Sasha told them. 

"If you ever have any computer problems, she'll probably be more help than IT," Jon added. 

"So, Martin. You used to work in the library, right? Any particular reason for transferring?" Sasha asked.

"No, not really. Elias asked me to, so he must have thought I'd be a good fit." Martin paused, sensing that the others were still expecting a more interesting answer. "We're creating a database for digitised statements using the same subject index as the library, plus the ability to tag related case numbers. I asked Diana for help setting it up, but we've gotten to the point where we can maintain it ourselves. So I guess it helps that I've got some familiarity with the system."

"That database is going to be a lifesaver. Probably literally," Tim told him. "It's damn near impossible to cross reference old cases unless someone in Research still has a copy on their laptop. There's useful information in the Archives, but asking Gertrude for anything relating to an active investigation... Well, let's just say it's the sort of thing you only try once."

"Oh. I didn't realise she was that, uh..." Martin floundered for words.

"To be fair, if you remember a particular case, she'll usually help you dig it out," Sasha explained. "But if you show up asking _'do you have anything about ghosts?'_ , she'll just leave you to search the thousands of shelves full of date-ordered statements by yourself."

"That's why I asked to be transferred," Jon added. "This modernisation project is long overdue. We've collected centuries' worth of information, and we shouldn't be leaving it to rot. Who's to say how much of it might prove relevant to the dangers that still lurk in the shadows? Accurate information is vastly outweighed by rumours and nonsense, so we need to implement an efficient method of filtering through it all. Finding the needles in the haystack."

"You're preaching to the choir, here," Tim reminded him.

"How's the project going, in practice?" Sasha asked.

Jon hesitated, looking oddly uncomfortable. "We've made a start, and that's about all I can say. I wish we could make faster progress, but there are only so many hours in the day. And Gertrude won't let me work overtime."

"Really?" Tim tilted his head to one side, sounding faux-scandalised.

"I've told her that I don't expect to be paid overtime, I just want to get ahead of schedule while it's quiet in the office, but she nevertheless refuses to let me stay past five. She won't let me take any paperwork home, either. The documents are too fragile and confidential. I'm allowed to bring my laptop home, since it's encrypted, and I can scan in any number of statements during the day, but I can't spend all evening typing up transcripts. Not after typing all day. My hands just seize up. Besides, it's the sort of rote work that we could assign to a temp, if we ever have more of a budget. I can't help but feel underutilised." 

"Oh, no. We can't have that." Sasha couldn't quite suppress a smirk.

"I've been recording audio versions of the statements in Document Storage, since it's well soundproofed, but I'm not allowed to bring the expensive recording equipment home. My laptop's built-in microphone doesn't compare, and my flat isn't soundproof, to say the least, so I can't really record anything after work." 

"How awful." Tim clearly wasn't even trying to stop smiling.

"I'm not even allowed to research the old statements. Not that there's much investigation to be done into anything from 1818. But most of them are missing any kind of supplementary material, and I wanted to see what we could dig up, for completeness' sake. Gertrude told me that it wouldn't be a good use of our time, that we need to focus on getting the collection digitised first, and we can email the researchers to ask them to look into any statements of particular interest. So I've just been typing, and recording, and typing some more, until I'm sent home. And then I have to figure out what to do with the evening. I deep-cleaned the kitchen last weekend."

Sasha finally burst into laughter, setting off Tim as well.

"Hey!" Jon scowled at them. 

"Sorry, I'm sorry, it's just..." Sasha took a couple of deep breaths, bringing herself back under control. "Basically, your only complaint is that Gertrude isn't working you hard enough?"

"More or less," Jon admitted. "I've been looking into some of the more interesting statements anyway, in my own time, and I've put together some notes on the historical context. I, uh, might have slipped a few fact sheets into the case files, when Gertrude wasn't looking." 

"Oh, Jon..." Sasha shook her head, letting slip a few more giggles. "One: that's adorable."

"No it's not."

"Two: remind me never to work for you."

Jon flinched at that, though he quickly tried to school his expression. "I thought we worked well together."

"We did. I didn't mean... it's just, there's such a thing as a work-life balance," Sasha explained. "It's one thing to push yourself hard in a job you love, and another thing entirely to work for a manager who thinks everyone's obliged to put in that much effort 24/7."

"I wouldn't..." Jon seemed to find himself lost for words.

"Look, I was joking. Sort of. But if Gertrude isn't demanding more from you than your contracted hours and the duties in your new job description, then that's a good thing," Sasha insisted. "You're the one who asked to be transferred to the Archives. What did you expect a document archival job to be like, day to day?"

"I - I don't think I had any specific expectation that I'd be doing anything else, but in practice... I know it's all work that needs doing, and it's not that I'm bored, during the day, I just..."

"Sounds like you're not used to pacing yourself," Tim told him. "Do you want my advice?"

"I'm sure I'll hear it either way," Jon grumbled. When Tim kept waiting, eyebrows raised, Jon sighed and nodded. "Please share your wisdom."

"Stop putting yourself under unnecessary pressure," Tim advised. "Your new project is a marathon, not a sprint. Take pride in your work, sure, but find a way to enjoy your weekends too."

"I - it's not as if I have nothing else to do," Jon assured them. "It's just, none of it takes that much time. I could catch up with my reading list, I know, but..."

"You haven't had any trouble filling your lunchtimes, have you?" Sasha pointed out. "You and Martin have got that whole 'lunch date in the park' thing going on. Why don't you grab some food together at the weekend too, and see a few more of the sights?"

"I haven't done as much sightseeing as I thought I would, when I first moved to London." Jon turned to Martin, looking contemplative. "Is there anywhere you'd want to visit? I mean, if you have time for anything outside of work. I'm sure you have your own plans too."

"Honestly, I don't have much of a budget for sightseeing," Martin admitted. "There are some posters up on the tube for a new exhibit at the Tate, something about coastal soundscapes? With those driftwood sculptures? I've been meaning to check the cost of admission."

"I think I know the one you mean. It does look interesting. Hang on a second..." Jon looked it up on his phone. "Thirty quid each, for adults."

"Oh. Nevermind, then." 

"I could cover your ticket," Jon offered. "Honestly, it wouldn't be any - "

"No, that's alright." Martin stared down at his half-eaten meal, trying to keep a neutral expression on his face. 

There was no point explaining that he didn't want to owe anyone money, because Jon would just say that he didn't need to pay him back, but then he'd want to carry on doing things that weren't in Martin's budget, and he'd always be the one paying, and he'd get sick of it, unless Martin cut back on things that were a whole lot more important than day trips, like food and heating, just to set aside enough to keep up with him, and that might sound tempting in theory, but it never worked out well in reality.

"...Oh." Jon sounded disappointed. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking.

An awkward silence consumed the table until Tim made another suggestion.

"There are plenty of free exhibits, aren't there? You could just - "

"Tim, he's not interested," Jon hissed.

"I, I mean another time, maybe, but if you like the look of that one, then you should catch it while it's on," Martin explained. "No point wandering around the free exhibits instead, just to humour me."

"No, I - it's not as if I've already been to every free-admission gallery and museum in London," Jon protested. "We're not short of good options."

"What about that new permanent exhibit at the Science Museum, on the Information Age?" Sasha suggested. "I went with friends the other week. Not a bad way to kill a few hours."

"Well?" Jon seemed like he was going to dig his heels in. Martin met his gaze for a moment, then went back to studying his plate.

"Sure." Martin didn't trust himself to say much more. Nothing could really be spontaneous or low-pressure with so many people weighing in.

"Let's give it some thought." Jon sounded weirdly deflated. 

"Sure. Later." Martin pushed a chip around the plate.

"So, Martin. How are you adapting to the new job?" Tim asked, taking it upon himself to change the subject.

"It's alright. There's tons to do, but Gertrude isn't expecting us to work miracles overnight, so... yeah." Martin shrugged. "If anything, it's quieter than I'm used to, what with the lack of visitors. But the statements are interesting. Jon's been telling me about some of the recent ones, too. Like, uh, Jane Prentiss? You keep getting reports of unverifiable sightings?"

"Yeah, it's hard to tell whether she's still out there," Tim replied. "She's supposed to have made a statement herself, before she went all creepy worm monster, but Gertrude claims to have lost it. If you ever find it in the depths of the Archives, send us a copy, and we'll add it to her file."

"Will do." Martin nodded. 

"I imagine you've been dealing with all the April Fool's statements this week," Jon guessed.

"Sure have." Tim rolled his eyes. "Three slendermans, two Loch Ness monsters, and the same ski resort yeti as last year."

"I think the plural is _'slendermen'_ ," Sasha corrected him.

"Nah, that just sounds like you're talking about twinks," Tim replied.

Martin stifled a snort of a laugh.

"Not every skinny guy is a twink," Sasha reminded them. "I mean, look at Jon."

"I'd like to veto this entire topic," Jon muttered. 

"Uh, that sort of thing must be a break from the more challenging cases, at least." Martin tried to steer the conversation in a more Jon-friendly direction.

"It can be," Sasha acknowledged. "I've had a heavy one to deal with this week, and there wasn't much I could do for the statement giver."

"Oh, what happened?" Martin asked, even though he wasn't a hundred percent sure he wanted to know.

"Her cousin disappeared," Sasha answered. "He'd gotten involved with a cult, but he'd been looking for a way out. There's no evidence of a kidnapping. The police have opened a missing person case, and I haven't been able to uncover anything more."

"Which cult?" Jon asked.

"The People's Church of the Divine Host," Sasha told them. "The statement giver didn't have an address for them, or any contact details. She barely managed to pretend that it was supernatural, writing that the lights at her cousin's house kept dying inexplicably. She must've just wanted more people to help look for him, since he really is missing. I wish I could help, but without any leads..."

"Not much you can do." Jon nodded. "I don't think I saw that one in the closed cases that you handed over earlier."

"Yeah, I'm keeping hold of it for a few more days, in case the police hit any breakthroughs." Sasha didn't sound super hopeful.

"Fingers crossed," Martin replied anyway.

"Thanks."

"What time is it...? Ah." Jon checked his phone, answering his own question. "Martin, if you're finished too, would you mind if we call this a twenty minute lunch? We did agree to make up some time, after the slow start this morning."

"Oh, sure." Martin offered the others a smile. "Good luck with the research."

"Leaving already?" Tim sounded surprised.

"We really did get distracted this morning," Jon admitted.

"You've still got a purple paperclip stuck to your sleeve," Sasha told him.

"I'm saving it for later," Jon replied, running his fingers over it.

"What's happening later?" Tim asked.

Jon shrugged. "I might need a paperclip."

"You sure are ready for anything," Tim observed.

"Come on, Jon." Martin nudged his lunch tray.

"Ah, right. It was good to catch up, but I'd better..."

"See you later."

* * *

When the two of them made it back to the Archives, Jon sank into his chair, checked his phone again, and sighed quietly. His gaze slid to the far wall, and his hand drifted back to the clip on his sleeve, his fingertips stroking over it as he gathered his thoughts. 

Martin pretended to study his own phone, glancing at Jon as often as he dared.

Eventually, Jon blinked and turned to him. "We should exchange numbers, shouldn't we?"

"What?" 

"If we're going to... ah, this weekend... unless you didn't want to, sorry, those two can be a bit much, like I said, but you can just tell them not to be so presumptuous and that's - that's fair enough." Jon's gaze had drifted back to the wall, and he seemed to be maintaining a determinedly blank expression. 

"I, I guess we could do something? The Science Museum sounds alright, to be honest. I just... I'm not keen on letting a committee make my decisions for me," Martin told him. "Sorry, I know that's not what they were trying to do, and they seem nice enough, really, so... How about we give it some thought until Friday, and go with Sasha's idea if we don't come up with anything else?"

Jon hunched in on himself, still staring at the wall. "If - if you feel like it. But don't worry if it's..."

"What? What's wrong?"

"You don't have to keep me company just because they asked you to." Jon froze up for a second, then shook his head. "Sorry, that didn't come out right - "

"No, I'd definitely like to do something at the weekend. It really does sound nice. Just, let's not crowdsource any more plans, okay? Unless we're asking the others to come along."

"Okay." Jon glanced in his direction without meeting his gaze. "Would you want to do that too? Arrange a - a group hangout?"

"I guess? We could stand to hold more socials. I mean, the library doesn't tend to hold many, and I don't know if research usually does, and the archives were just Gertrude, until now. So, uh, going forwards, we could try to arrange more. And if we grab lunch with those two again sometime, that'd be alright." Martin bit his lip, wishing he was better at this. "Not that you'd need to run that past me, you clearly know each other pretty well, I just, uh..."

"No, I know what you mean."

"Good, that makes one of us." Martin laughed faintly, and risked another glance at Jon. He was checking his phone again. It looked like there was something he wanted to say as the silence stretched on. Oh, he'd wanted to exchange numbers, right? Maybe he didn't want to ask again. Martin brought his own number up onscreen, and held it out. "Here."

"Ah, thanks... Right, here's mine."

* * *

On Monday morning, Michael elbowed open the door to the Archives, carrying a stack of case files in one hand and a paper plate full of cupcakes in the other.

"Do you want a hand with any of that?" Martin asked.

"Ah, that would be wonderful, thank you." Michael gave him the paperwork, then continued on towards the Head Archivist's office. "Back in a second, I'll just see if Gertrude fancies a snack."

Martin flicked through the new statements until Michael returned with one less cupcake on the plate. 

"Do you want one too? There's a bake sale upstairs, and I didn't want Team Archives to miss out." Michael giggled at his own turn of phrase, though it was hardly a joke.

"Mm, thanks." Martin picked out one with jelly diamonds in the icing.

"Is Jon around?" 

"He's recording in Document Storage. Better not interrupt, or he'll have to start over. He still hasn't gotten the hang of the editing software."

"Ah. Why don't you grab one for him?"

Martin nodded, and selected one that was decorated with chocolate buttons. He left both cakes at the edge of his desk for now; best to wait for Jon, and prepare a round of tea to go with them.

Michael poked at the new stress toy on Jon's desk, a piece of black foam in the shape of the Rosetta stone, with snippets of three ancient scripts printed across the front in white. "A new translation aid...?"

"Oh, very funny." Martin rolled his eyes. "He actually knows Ancient Greek. And Latin. Says he studied them at uni."

"I know Latin too." Michael grinned, still poking idly at the foam. "Vigilo, opperior, audio."

"That's just the Institute motto."

"See? We all know Latin."

Martin laughed despite himself. "I think Jon would have something to say about that."

"Probably." Michael slid the toy away, as if banning himself from continuing to squish it. "How was the museum date?"

"Tim and Sasha have been gossiping, haven't they?" Martin sighed, slouching back in his chair. "It wasn't really a date."

"Oh?"

"We had a day out at the British Museum, since neither of us had been for a while, and there's always more to see." Martin stared down at the paperwork, trying not to let his smile slip. "He spent almost the entire time ranting about the Ancient Greeks. Odysseus was an asshole, apparently."

"Most of their heroes were, weren't they?"

"Yeah, I guess." Martin picked a jelly diamond out of the icing; he could use the sugar sooner rather than later. "I think Jon was trying to keep me entertained, so there's that."

"How dare he?"

Martin couldn't help but laugh. "I would've liked it to be a date, you know? I thought there might've been something there. We get along, and I - I like the way he looks, and it was nice seeing him outside of work. But I didn't catch him checking me out, or trying to hold hands, or angling for a kiss, or anything like that. And I know not everyone wants to risk pda, but he didn't bring up any kind of 'your place or mine' conversation by the end, and I couldn't say I was surprised. I guess he must be the type who just gets awkward about making friends."

Michael nodded, his expression clearly that of someone trying to be sympathetic even though they don't see the problem. "Ah, so. Not quite what you wanted?"

"I shouldn't let it get to me." Martin picked off another sweet. "Making a real friend at work, that - that's not something to take for granted. I'm trying not to be weird about it."

"Do you think he's straight?" Michael asked, sounding dubious.

"Not sure. The museum was pretty crowded, and I didn't see him checking anyone else out, either." Martin glanced in the direction of Document Storage, then turned back to Michael. "Do you have, like, ace-dar? Instead of gaydar?"

"Honestly, I don't tend to speculate." Michael tilted his head in thought. "Jon... I wouldn't be surprised, but I wouldn't want to make assumptions."

"That's fair."

"You could ask him."

"Nooo, no way." Martin waved his hands frantically. "If I asked _'are you ace?'_ at this point, it'd sound like _'why aren't you into me?'_ "

"Ah. Best not, then."

"Don't tell him I've been..."

"Your secrets are safe with me." Michael smiled, looking terribly amused. "Though, you know, even if he is ace, he might be interested in dating you, with a different set of expectations."

"I - I don't think so, and I really don't want to make things weird by putting my foot in my mouth. We still have to work together, a-and he still wants to hang out. We said we'd check out the Science Museum next weekend, to see if the Information Age thing that Sasha recommended is any good."

"A second not-a-date? Or are you inviting anyone else?"

"Just us, I think. But we've been talking about holding more socials too."

"Oh, what sort?"

"Uh, we didn't really get any further than that, last week. We just agreed that we might want to spend time with the others too, sometimes. But we don't have any ideas yet, on that front."

"I see..." Michael's tone was edging into _'I think you're being ridiculous'_ , but Martin didn't feel like arguing.

"Is there any sort of event that you'd be interested in, if we do try to get something added to the social calendar?"

"I tend to be quite busy on my days off." Michael sounded mildly apologetic.

"Exciting hobbies?"

"I volunteer at a youth club."

"Since when?" Not that Martin didn't believe him, just... How had he gone this long without learning that?

"Since about eight years ago, at this point. I don't shout about it." 

"Huh. I bet you're cool with the kids."

"Oh, no. I make sure I'm not." Michael leaned in conspiratorially. "Kids always want to be the cool ones. They don't want the adults around them stealing the spotlight."

"That makes sense." 

"I think you'll find I'm, ah, very much in the habit of making sense." Michael offered him another smile, and placed an extra cupcake on his desk. "Best of luck with the week ahead."

"Thanks, you too."

Once Michael had headed back upstairs, Martin made a start at scanning in the new statements.

Half an hour later, Martin found himself at the door to Gertrude's office, wondering how to explain himself without sounding unhinged.

"What is it, Martin?" Gertrude paused in her work, pinning him to the spot with her stare.

"One of the statements won't scan. At first I thought the scanner was broken, but then I checked the settings and tried another document, just in case. It works fine with everything else, but this one keeps causing a glitch."

"Which one?"

"Statement number 0140204. The one about a guy who went missing after getting involved with the People's Church of the Divine Host."

"Leave it with me, and I'll file it later."

"Oh, okay." Martin stepped in to place it on her desk.

"If you find any more that won't scan, you can leave them with me as well."

"Do you run into this problem a lot?" Martin couldn't help noticing that she didn't sound surprised.

"Now and then, yes. This place has its idiosyncrasies."

"No kidding."

"Was that all?"

"Uh, yeah. Unless you need anything?"

"Nothing springs to mind."

"Right. Let me know if you need anything later. I'll just be uploading the rest of this batch in the meantime."

Gertrude nodded in dismissal. 

Martin retreated to his desk, spent a few seconds staring at the remaining statements, then shook his head and went to make himself a drink. 

Pieces of paper that were impossible to scan... That was a hell of an idiosyncrasy in the system. He'd have to keep an eye out for any more misbehaving statements, and ask Jon to do the same.

* * *

June brought balmy weather to London, interspersed with patches of drizzle. The Magnus Institute's staff were far from alone in appreciating the onset of summer. On the last Monday of the month, Jon paused outside Bessborough Gardens on his way to work, noticing that the fountain had been repaired. A handful of tourists were taking photos of the tumbling water, trying to capture the way it glimmered in the morning light. Perhaps he should come back with Martin at lunchtime. They'd been talking about venturing further than the usual green spaces during their breaks, but all of the other landmarks within walking distance would still be there another day.

Rosie greeted him when he stepped into the reception. "Good to see you here bright and early, Jon."

"I'd be here earlier, but Gertrude still hasn't given me the keys," Jon replied, only half joking.

The reception phone rang while Rosie was rolling her eyes. Jon started heading for the stairs while she answered it, but he paused when a crackling static noise burst from the phone, uncomfortably loud even from across the room.

"Hello...?" Rosie tried to speak over the static, but it didn't abate. After a few seconds, she shrugged and hung up.

"Who or what was that?" Jon asked, stepping closer.

"It didn't say," Rosie replied, fiddling with the phone.

"A withheld number?"

"No, it was just a bunch of gibberish symbols."

"Maybe it's broken."

"Hm, maybe. Could you call it, as a test?"

"Of course."

The test call went through alright, so Jon left her to look into the problem through whatever other means she could come up with. 

Down in the Archives, the light in Gertrude's office was on, but Martin wasn't in yet, as usual for this time of day. 

Nine o'clock came and went. Martin still hadn't shown up.

At quarter past nine, Jon returned to the ground floor for a signal, and texted Martin. _'Are you okay?'_

He hung around the break room for a few minutes, then headed back to the Archives with a glass of water.

At half past, he nipped up to the ground floor, checked his phone, and saw a 'text not delivered' error message. He called Martin's number, but it went straight to voicemail.

Jon headed back down to the Archives and approached Gertrude's office. Her door was ajar, as usual, and she looked up as he pushed it open. 

"I was just wondering, have you heard from Martin?" Jon asked. "He's not usually late, so I'm a little worried..."

"No, I haven't heard from him today." Gertrude seemed unperturbed. 

"Ah. It's just, I've tried calling, and his phone's switched off, which isn't usual for him either. If you have a - a landline number for his place - "

"I don't."

"Oh." Jon took a moment to reign in his disappointment. "Well, I'm sure he'll be in soon."

Gertrude stared at him for a few moments longer, then nodded and rose to her feet. "I'm sure he will. If you'll excuse me, I need to have a word with Elias."

"Oh? I... Martin's not in trouble now, is he? Surely if it's the first time he's been late - "

"Don't fret, Jonathan. I have no intention of landing him in any undue trouble. Now if you'll please excuse me..."

Jon stepped back from the doorway to let her pass.

He paced in front of his desk until he realised what he was doing, then sat down and tried to get on with his work. When the clock reached nine forty, he caught himself zoning out, chewing on a paperclip.

Why would Gertrude suddenly need to speak to Elias unless they were discussing disciplinary action? Or perhaps Martin had contacted the Institute about a problem which the management saw no reason to disclose to Jon. Confidentiality and all. Could it be family trouble, or a sudden accident? Martin had been fine yesterday...

At nine forty eight, Gertrude returned with a grim look in her eyes.

"Wh-what's wrong? What did Elias say?" Jon asked, jumping to his feet.

Gertrude shook her head, returning to her office without paying him a second glance. 

Jon made one more trip to the break room, checked his phone, then made another halfhearted attempt to get on with his job.

At twelve, there was still no sign of Martin. 

Jon's feet drew him back to Gertrude's office. She seemed tense in a way that he'd never seen before, flicking through her paperwork with cold fury written across her face. She made no effort to smother the expression as she lifted her gaze to acknowledge him.

"You know what's happened to Martin, don't you?" Jon felt certain of the words as he spoke them.

Gertrude took her time studying him before replying. "Yes, I do. Unfortunately, we have no way of contacting him, so we will simply have to hope he returns to us in due course."

"What does that mean? Where is he?" Jon asked, digging his nails into the doorframe.

"That is no concern of yours." Gertrude stared him down. As the silence stretched on, her expression softened slightly. She took an insistent tone when she spoke again. "Trust me when I say there is nothing you can do for him right now."

Jon wandered back to his desk. After staring at his laptop screen for an unmeasured stretch of time, watching the pixels flicker, he let his feet carry him to Research. Tim and Sasha were arguing about a statement, but they stopped when he walked up to them.

"Jon? What's wrong?" Tim asked, placing a hand on his shoulder. That was alright, since it was Tim. 

Jon took a second to consider his request, and turned to Sasha. "You're in and out of the Institute's systems often enough to know everyone's current home address, aren't you? Or to look it up, if need be?"

"Yeah. Why?" Sasha frowned in mild confusion.

"Martin hasn't shown up to work today, and Gertrude knows where he is, but she won't tell me what's going on. Something's wrong, she - she said there's ' _nothing I can do for him_ ', but if I knew his address, then I could at least check on him, if he's at home."

"Whoa, that - that's a lot to unpack." Tim squeezed his shoulder. "If Martin's already contacted his manager, and she's telling you it's none of your business, then it sounds like he doesn't want you to know why he's absent, or else he'd have told you himself."

"Maybe he'll want to talk once he's back in the office. You two are close, aren't you?" Sasha seemed to think this was a comforting response.

"No, I - I know it's worse than that. Gertrude was being ominous, you didn't see the look on her face - "

"Calm down, Jon, please. You're getting loud," Tim warned him.

Jon hissed in a breath between his teeth, and continued in a furious whisper. "Martin was absolutely fine yesterday, so whatever's happened overnight that has Gertrude looking furious, I'd say it's reason enough to worry, and considering the possibilities, I don't think he'd object to a - a friend stopping by to check on him."

"You saw him over the weekend?" Sasha was starting to look concerned.

"Yes, we had a picnic at Battersea Park, and looked around the zoo, a-and then we found another nice spot on the lawn and read for the rest of the afternoon." Jon felt a breath of laughter escape his lips. "He has a way of making Keats sound somewhat tolerable, in small doses."

"And you've never been round to his place?" Tim sounded vaguely disbelieving. 

"No, I... I know we spend a lot of time together, but I guess we decided somewhere along the line that the point was to help each other get out of the house more often. Though I don't think we ever quite discussed it in those terms." Jon frowned for a moment, trying to get his thoughts back on track. "Of course, now I wish I knew where he lived, because Gertrude's been speaking to Elias and saying she can't contact Martin, and I don't know if that means the Institute isn't supposed to call him while he's off for personal reasons, or something worse, and his phone's switched off, and if I could just go round and check - "

"Easy, Jon. Remember to breathe," Tim told him, guiding him into a chair.

"I _am_ breathing. I want to know that _he's_ still breathing."

"Hey, it can't be that bad. You said Gertrude knows where he is," Tim reminded him.

"Yes, but she said he might not return, and I..." Jon dug his fingers into his arms as his worst memory played itself on a loop in his mind's eye. Spindly limbs reached out from behind a door that shouldn't exist. "I know how quickly people can go missing, in the absolute worst case scenario. If it's not that bad, I need to see for myself. I need him to be okay."

When Jon looked up, the others seemed to be having a silent conversation over his head. Tim was finally looking worried. Sasha raised her eyebrows, and Tim nodded, his fingers tightening on Jon's shoulder. 

"Alright, how about this? I'll go check on him after work, and if he's home, I'll tell him you're worried," Sasha offered. 

"You'd do that?" Jon blinked up at her. "I'd appreciate it, but are you sure you can't give me his address, or - or couldn't we go together?"

"I won't start handing out everyone's personal information. It wouldn't be appropriate."

"Hacking into it in the first place isn't appropriate," Jon reminded her. 

"But I'm not going to do anything dodgy with it, so it doesn't matter. Look, Jon, I know you're worried for all the right reasons, but we both know you can get carried away sometimes. Martin won't be impressed if he thinks you're stalking him."

"I'm not going to stalk him - "

"Then leave this with me."

"How is it any different if _you_ visit?"

"Trust me, it's not the same."

"I'd listen to Sasha here, if I were you." Tim offered him a skewed smile.

"Fine, but call me as soon as you have anything to report."

"Will do. In the meantime, why don't we go grab lunch?" Sasha suggested. "You haven't eaten yet, have you?" 

"I'll pass. I'm not hungry."

"Then why don't you just sit with us for a while? Gotta say, you're not looking great. Here, see if you can manage this..." Tim fished a cereal bar out of his desk drawer and pressed it into Jon's hands.

"If you insist," Jon muttered, opening the wrapper. "You needn't fuss, but it's not as if I have anywhere else to be."

"Right, we're all on break." Tim leaned against his desk and grabbed his phone. "Do you want to see the photos from my weekend?"

"What sort of photos?"

"Just the work safe ones, I promise..."

* * *

That evening, Jon was keeping himself distracted with cat videos when Sasha called. 

"Hi, Jon. Sorry, I don't have much news after all."

"What do you mean? Didn't you - "

"I found his flat, yeah, but he's not home. The lights were off, and he didn't answer his door, so I tracked down his landlord. I told him that Martin hadn't shown up at work, and that we were hoping someone could check on him. The landlord let himself in, just in case something was wrong, but nothing's out of place in his flat."

"...Oh."

"Something must have come up. A family emergency, or..."

"Thank you for trying."

"I'm sure he'll be back soon. Don't let yourself get too worked up, okay? Jumping to conclusions won't help."

"I suppose not." 

Jon hung up, and tried calling Martin again. His number went straight to voicemail.

* * *

Martin was still missing on Tuesday.

Jon walked up to Gertrude's door, and thought twice about interrogating her again when he saw the look on her face.

"... Would it be alright if I hotdesk in the library today?" Jon asked instead. "I'd like to work in an area with a signal, in case... in case he calls."

"Do as you please."

"Thank you."

Over in the library, Diana and Emily hadn't heard from Martin this week either. 

Sasha refused to visit his flat again.

* * *

On Wednesday morning, Jon returned to his own desk, booted up his laptop, and stared at the transcript he'd left unfinished yesterday. He hadn't made much progress this week, but Gertrude didn't seem to mind. 

He retrieved the original statement, a handwritten letter recounting several northern folk tales, sent from Nelly Pollard to Jonah Magnus in December 1818. His fingers skimmed across the yellowed paper, finding his place near the end of 'The Death of Parcy Reed'.

_Alack and woe for Parcy Reed!  
_ _Alack, he was an unarmed man!  
_ _Four weapons pierced him all at once,  
_ _As they assailed him there and than._

_They fell upon him all at once,  
_ _They mangled him most cruellie;  
_ _The slightest wound might caused his deid,  
_ _And they hae given him thirty-three;  
_ _They hackit off his hands and feet,  
_ _And left him lying on the lee._

Jon closed his eyes and took a moment to breathe, trying not to let his imagination run away from him. 

He forced his eyes open and started typing. What else could he do? 

* * *

Tim made the descent into the Archives and dragged Jon away from his desk at lunchtime. There wasn't much point arguing.

While they were passing through reception, a bright yellow door slammed open in a wall that shouldn't contain a door at all.

Martin dashed through and slammed the door behind him. He looked as if he hadn't slept or washed in days. He was dressed for work, but his clothes were dishevelled and sweaty, and his eyes were wide with panic as he gazed around the room. By the time he looked back, the yellow door had vanished.

Jon rushed over, and Martin stumbled into his arms. They slid to the floor together when Martin's legs gave out. 

"Water..." Martin's voice was so hoarse as to be barely audible.

Rosie rushed to get him a drink from the water cooler, and helped him raise the cup to his lips. Martin gulped it down, his breath rasping in his throat. 

Tim was saying something, but Jon couldn't parse it. Martin was still clinging to him, trembling head to toe.

"Martin, what happened? What do you need?" Jon asked, trying to keep his own voice steady.

A faint laugh escaped Martin's lips. "I n-need to make a statement."

"Okay, but before that..."

Martin passed out, falling limp as his eyes slid closed. His breath ghosted past Jon's ear, proof that he was alive.

"I'm calling an ambulance," Tim announced.

Jon held onto Martin until Rosie coaxed him into laying him down on someone's coat. She draped the foil blanket from the first aid kit over him as he rested. Tim continued talking on the phone, his words only occasionally registering at the peripheries of Jon's attention. 

"... _Missing for days, he's just walked in and collapsed, we don't know what happened to him_..."

Jon leaned in close to Martin until he could hear him breathing again.


End file.
